


Fear Not This Night

by Tehri



Series: Memories of Home [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo really hates travelling, Darkness is not pleasant, Grumpy caring Thorin, Safety is important for hobbits, Second watch is the worst, Thorin is less of a dick than usual, Thorin/Bilbo if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All in all, Bilbo does not like to travel. But it's not the riding or the lack of food and baths or even the company that makes him feel distressed. It's the first dark nights of camping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear Not This Night

All in all, Bilbo really didn’t like to travel. He wasn’t used to riding for hours on end every day, the food was of course meant for much less than six solid meals a day, the opportunities to wash were miniscule, and to be entirely honest, the company was not ideal. The wizard he could deal with; Gandalf had known his mother, after all, and Bilbo was keen to know how they’d met, and to hear of the wizard’s friendship with the Old Took. It was the dwarves he didn’t like.

Oh, sure, they weren’t such a terribly bad bunch all in all. Quite cheerful, actually. But he could really do without all the teasing and the crude jokes. Not to mention being treated as though he were slow. Somehow, the notion of him not actually knowing anything about their history or much about life outside the Shire in general didn’t seem to show up in their minds. Whenever those discussions broke out, he was glad to have Gandalf there to fend for him.

But it wasn’t the dwarves that were the worst, either. Or the riding or the lack of food and baths. What he really didn’t like were those first few nights when they started camping, after there were no more inns along the road. The darkness was too compact out here, nowhere near the slightest notion of safe.

The dwarves were strict with setting out guards; one could never be too careful, they’d explained when Bilbo had first asked, and then stared at him as though he’d grown a second head when he explained that doors weren’t always locked in the Shire because it was such a safe land. Even though he knew he should feel quite safe, surrounded by the dwarves and Gandalf, Bilbo couldn’t quite settle down that first night. He’d tossed and turned under his blankets until Bofur, who’d had the first watch, came over to him to check if he was having a nightmare.

He’d tried sleeping on his side, turned towards the fire, but found that he couldn’t shake the feeling of being stared at from somewhere in the darkness behind him. So he turned over and stared out into the dark, and couldn’t find peace while imagining all the strange things lurking out there, just waiting for him to fall asleep and Bofur to nod off for a moment, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch an unsuspecting hobbit from their midst. So he turned over on his back, but kept nervously glancing into the darkness. This continued for quite some time before Bofur came over to him.

He’d slept so poorly that night that he kept nodding off during the following day, nearly sliding off his pony twice and practically falling off and going to sleep immediately when they finally stopped to make camp for the night.

It was on the third night that it was declared that he would take the second watch. When Glóin roused him, Bilbo quickly wrapped his blankets around himself and moved to sit by the fire. He was shaking badly and kept glancing around, always expecting to see the glitter of eyes somewhere just outside the ring of light spread by the fire. The snores of his companions were deafening, and he couldn’t hear anything beyond that. Which meant that when an owl suddenly flew past and let out a screech, he jumped and nearly put his foot in the fire.

“I wish I were at home in Bag End,” he said miserably to himself. “My own safe smial, with a locked door between me and the dark…”

He smiled weakly and shook his head, remembering when he’d been a small child and had begged his mother to leave the candle burning in his room. She’d always sat there with him, telling him stories or singing for him until he fell asleep. And once he woke from a nightmare, which happened more often than he cared to admit, he’d hurry to his parents’ room and sneak inside.

He remembered so clearly how he’d wake one of them; how his father would sleepily ask him what on earth he was doing out of bed and then lift him up and let him burrow under the covers, how his mother would smile at him and urge him to come and sleep there with them. And if he’d wake a second time, he’d feel safe, hearing their steady breathing and feeling their arms around him.

They were both gone now. First his father, three years after Bilbo had reached his maturity. And then his mother, only six years ago now. Still when he woke in the night he wished that he could go to them, to hear his mother’s gentle teasing and his father’s kind voice.

Bilbo shivered and pulled the blankets tighter around him. How was it even possible for night to be so dark? He couldn’t remember feeling so miserable even during the Fell Winter, when the darkness had felt closer than ever before even in the safety of his home.

He wasn’t certain about how much time had passed when silent footsteps finally made him jolt out of his thoughts. Looking up, he found Thorin Oakenshield looking back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Your watch is over, Halfling,” he said calmly. “Some time ago, in fact. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Ah…” For a moment, Bilbo was completely dumbstruck. _When_ had his watch ended? “I… I’m sorry, I was… I was lost in thought…”

“Get some sleep, if you can,” Thorin grunted. “You can’t keep falling out of the saddle because you doze off. Next time we’ll leave you behind.”

The dwarf sat beside him and put another piece of wood on the fire. When he noticed that the hobbit wasn’t moving, he turned and glared at him.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“I… I did, actually,” Bilbo mumbled. “It’s just… Well… I don’t think I’ll get any sleep even if I try, I, I just don’t… I can’t sleep, is all…”

Thorin let out something that sounded very much like an exasperated groan, and the next thing Bilbo knew was that he was wrapped in a very warm and comfortable fur-lined coat.

“You’re certainly ill-dressed for this venture, if you chill so easily,” the dwarf grumbled. “Now go to sleep.”

The hobbit stared at him for a moment, not certain that he could move even if he wanted to. He did feel tired, but it was still so dark, and his bedroll had somehow been pushed to the edge of the light no matter his attempts to get near the fire when camp was being set up. He didn’t move from his seat.

“I can’t sleep,” he repeated. Thorin groaned again. “It’s not that I’m cold, it’s just… It’s so dark…”

For a moment, he thought that he’d not hear another word from the leader of the company, but then he felt himself being lifted from his seat and simply put down on his side, facing the fire and having his back pressed against Thorin’s crossed legs.

“There,” the dwarf muttered. “That’s all the light you’ll get for some hours more. Now go to sleep, for Mahal’s sake.”

Bilbo thought to open his mouth and argue against how simple his companion made it sound, but then there was a firm hand grasping his shoulder.

“Sleep,” Thorin said quietly. “You’re not alone. You’re among trained warriors, all of whom will wake instantly if there’s anything amiss. I will be right here.”

For a long while, Bilbo barely even dared to move. Finally he gave a soft smile and closed his eyes, willing his body to relax. Sleep may come slowly, but it would claim him all the same. He was quite safe.

And if any of the dwarves were surprised to find their burglar curled up by Thorin’s feet in the morning, at least they didn’t say anything about it.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a problem similar to Bilbo's in this fic - darkness is just not my friend, and feeling safe is very important if I am to go to sleep at all. It can be the simple reassurance that I'm in familiar territory, or that someone will be able to hear and help me if I scream. The fear doesn't go away, but it's quelled for a time, long enough to get some proper rest.


End file.
